


Idle Hands

by LadyofShalott



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofShalott/pseuds/LadyofShalott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian never should have wondered what Steve does when he's not there</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know these men, and no assumptions about them should be made due to this work of fiction. No harm is intended, and no profit is made. This was originally written in response to a comment fic prompt that I no longer recall.

_What do you do when I'm away filming and you're not playing with your band?_ Christian remembers asking the question innocently several months ago while he and Steve were spending a lazy Sunday morning in bed. It seemed to catch Steve off guard, and for a moment there was something in his eyes that Christian couldn't define.

Then.

He couldn't define it then.

He wishes he couldn't define it now.

Sometimes it seems as if he's loved Steve his entire life. In reality, it's only been about ten years, and Steve hasn't even known about it that long. He thought that in the years he'd known Steve he'd learned everything there was to know about him. Now he wonders if he ever really knew him at all.

If only he hadn't knocked the damn jewelry box off the dresser...

Steve has a wooden jewelry box with a secret compartment. Christian knows it has a secret compartment because he had it made for Steve eight years ago. It's a beautiful thing -- dark wood, intricate carving.... Steve used the compartment to stash weed until he stopped smoking -- at least that's what Christian had thought.

Steve is at a Supernatural convention in Italy, and most of his jewelry is with him, but he left the box and forgot to lock it. The box took a tumble when Christian tripped on the rug and banged his hip against the dresser, and he's currently sitting on the floor trying not to throw up.

_Not much,_ Steve had replied. _I have a lot of time to kill. Mostly, I think of you._

Chris stares at the items on the floor. He doesn't touch them, because on some level he's still hoping they're a figment of his imagination. In the tiny corner of his mind that's still resisting shock, he vaguely wonders how he's ever going to look Steve in the eye again.

On the floor is a collection of driver's licenses, each with a lock of braided hair clipped to it. The hair is all dark, nothing lighter than a dark brown. The photos on the licenses all resemble each other -- men in their thirties, long dark hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, five feet eight to six feet in height. Christian is too stunned to count, but there have to be at least a dozen. Christian remembers seeing news reports about a few of them when the police found their bodies.

_I have a lot of time to kill. Mostly, I think of you._


End file.
